


Answer to your prayers

by syvamiete



Series: Midam Christmas Calendar [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syvamiete/pseuds/syvamiete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t deserve this. This is not his punishment to suffer. He’s not created to stand this, something designed to us. It’s killing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Answer to your prayers

The boy quivers in his arms seeking even the slightest warm against the ever-present coldness. All Michael can do is to pet his hair soothingly while whispering comforting words and pull him a bit tighter against himself.

Eventually Adam falls into a slight slumber, which offers him a brief moment of refuge from the Cage. Michael raises his eyes to the sigils that cross over them in the darkness. He has already accepted that he will not ever get out, that no-one up there’s not listening to his pleads, but the boy in his arms doesn’t deserve this.

_Please, Father._

He bows his head.

_He doesn’t deserve this. This is not his punishment to suffer. He’s not created to stand this, something designed to us. It’s killing him._

Adam whimpers quietly in his sleep, but settles when Michael runs his hand at his back.

_Please. Just this time. Save him from the pain._

* * *

 

The change is so gradual at first it goes unnoticed. Small transformations drown into the all-consuming grayness that swallows everything and blurs the time.

Little by little, Adam’s snivel dies down and the boy settles into a silence. His sleep becomes deeper and steadier.

It isn’t until Adam gasps of pain that startle Michael from his own slumber. When the soothing words and fingers brushing the hair don’t help, Michael reaches his Grace to brush the boy’s soul and ease the pain.

But instead of wavering light, he meets something brighter and solid. A new threat seeping into him, he slowly opens his wings that have covered the boy for years, maybe decades. Something soft brushes against his feathers and the terror settle into his guts to stay.

The new feathers vary from ash grey to stormy blue.

He pulls Adam, who had calmed down again, tighter against himself and kisses his hair.

_I’m so sorry._

_This isn’t what I asked for._


End file.
